by Laurinda Lind

Girl in my class in Catholic school,
decades later I have a thing to say
which is sorry. I was an assembly
of anxieties but I think you were
ripe for your right life, such as
actually study, such as resist
overreacting, such as live in
your lucky neighborhood across
the bridge. And the way I was
a hot mess, my third school in
half a year so I didn’t know how
the hell to be anymore. And then
you so clearly saw your place
in the picture, I wish I had asked
you to explain. Let’s say after
this life we sit together at a table
in the sky and have a talk with
wine where I hope you forgive
how raw I was and I forgive you
for flawlessness, and in some
sacrament we invent made of
reimagination, finally we
figure out how to be friends.

Laurinda Lind

Laurinda Lind lives in New York’s North Country, close to Canada. Some of her writing is in Blue Earth Review, New American Writing, Paterson Literary Review, and Spillway. She is a Keats-Shelley Prize winner and a finalist in several other competitions. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.

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